All Of Our Vices
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: "Jason DiLaurentis hadn't minded mornings, once upon a time. He had once had goals and ambition and a drive to succeed – none of which even registered as a blip on his radar in these days of self-imposed solitary confinement." One-shot. Meant to take place near the tail-end of Season 4. Jason-centric, Tason bromance/partners in crime, Spason and Spoby undertones.


_**A/N:** Hi y'all. So this was something I had started writing back at the end of February, and kind of let sit for a while. It was written pre-Jason's actual return on the show. My original plan was for it to be a three-shot, with the first chapter focusing on Jason/Toby, the second on Jason/Spencer, and the third on Jason/Aria. Feedback about the first chapter was rather bleak on Tumblr, so I've decided to just post this as a brief one-shot piece and call it done for now unless further interest is expressed. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**ALL OF OUR VICES**

I was left to my own devices  
Many days fell away with nothing to show

And the walls kept tumbling down  
In the city that we love  
Great clouds roll over the hills  
Bringing darkness from above

But if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
Nothing changed at all?  
And if you close your eyes,  
Does it almost feel like  
You've been here before?  
How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

We were caught up and lost in all of our vices  
In your pose as the dust settled around us

**_"Pompeii" - Bastille_**

* * *

Daytime was a bitch.

The sun had an excruciating habit of disrupting the most wondrous of dreams, and of punctuating the most peaceful slumber with disjointed reminders that most functional people operated best during hours of daylight. It meant going back to the grindstone, and encouraged being the early bird setting out to get the worm, and all that other flowery nonsense people spun to ignore the fact that getting out of bed was akin to torture.

To the average person, it served as a metaphorical marker of starting fresh – but to someone who abhorred the thought of waking up to the same familiar hell they had fallen asleep in, it only represented the daunting task of scraping together the thinning remnants of dignity long enough to get through the day with some pale degree of self-respect.

Jason DiLaurentis hadn't minded mornings, once upon a time. Hell, he had even done a bang-up impression of a semi-productive human being for a while. He had once had goals and ambition and a drive to succeed – none of which even registered as a blip on his radar in these days of self-imposed solitary confinement.

Leaving Rosewood had started off as a gut instinct to protect himself from the underground faction of lunatics that insisted upon tormenting anything with a pulse. He had convinced himself that saving his own life was a higher priority than maintaining any amount of contact with the people back home. But being on the run had quickly taken its toll on his sanity, and now most days were spent holing out in a dingy motel room, falling victim to his own ubiquitous paranoia and fear. Severing all forms of human interaction had once seemed like a small price to pay for his life, but now he was left wondering whether _anything_ was worth feeling this alone.

And this particular morning was a morning like any other. One in which he reluctantly awoke, resigned to lying in bed for hours on end contemplating the meaning of life and the effort it would require to crawl out from beneath the safe haven of blankets long enough to take a piss. The heavy woven curtains were pulled tightly to shut out the world, but they simply weren't thick enough to hide _all_ evidence of the life that continued to exist outside the room. And in some ways, he resented their inability to completely shelter him from this harsh reality.

There was a knock at the door, a sound so jarring that he felt the stampede pounding instantaneously through his brain, like the commencement of a zealous horse race.

He groaned, pulling one of the spare pillows on top of his face. "Read the sign! Do not disturb!"

If the maid continued to knock, he did not hear it. Instead he relished in the discovery of the pseudo soundproof bedding over his head, and wondered why he had not put it to use earlier.

No sooner had he thought it than it was being torn away from him, leaving his vision swimming in disorientation. He immediately filled its absence with his arm, unconcerned about learning the identity of his visitor.

"What the hell?" he slurred irritably.

"Get up."

He knew that voice. It was a voice that was often tame and gentle with empathy, and very rarely had he heard it laced with so much unabashed venom. He cracked a single eyelid, peering up at the man at his bedside.

"Good to see you too, Cavanaugh."

"I mean it, Jason. Get up. It's important."

Jason sighed heavily, grabbing the covers at his ribcage and throwing them upward to shield his face. "Out of commission today. Try again tomorrow."

This safeguard was short-lived as well, for Toby had seized the blanket and thrown it clear across the room within seconds. Jason sputtered indignantly, pulling himself into a sitting position, putting on what he hoped was his best threatening expression. The younger stood only feet away, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"I came to ask for your help, but from the looks of it, you're the last person who will be of any use." He gestured dismissively at the empty beer bottles lining the motel nightstand, a look of distaste pulling at his features. Jason followed his gaze, dragging one hand down the length of his face. Most of his nerve endings still felt numb.

"This isn't a daily thing," he spat defensively. "I'm a grown man, and I'm allowed to indulge once in a while."

"Peter wasn't kidding when he said dependency runs in the family," Toby muttered, his eyes flickering toward the door, as if debating whether to just flee the scene all together in defeat. Jason distinctly saw the dark shadow that marred his expression, and the pieces slowly began to fuse together in his brain.

"Dependency?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Toby sighed. He still neglected to meet the elder's eyes. "Spencer is…well…she's been taking…"

He trailed off, exhaling shakily and rubbing at an invisible itch on the back of his neck. He looked exhausted, as though he had expended the last remnants of his energy to make the trip, his remaining resolve petering out with dizzying brevity.

The silence ruminated in the air between them, cogs continuing to turn in Jason's mind. A faint recollection swam into his consciousness, some weathered version of Alison talking in brash undertones to Spencer in the upstairs hallway about popping pills. Naturally, Alison's undertones were much louder than a normal person's undertones, because Ali liked nothing better than sharing other people's drama with anybody in earshot.

Jason attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, finding suddenly that any leftover inebriation was quickly seeping from his system. "Is she…okay?"

Toby turned his gaze back to the elder's, the heart-clenching concern in his eyes more akin to the way Jason was accustomed to seeing him. He took a moment to respond, as if considering the selection of his words very carefully.

"She needs as much help as she can get," he answered cryptically, barely audible above the din of the traffic blaring outside. "And that includes help from her brother."

Jason sighed heavily, threading his fingers through his blond hair in silence, striving to bring his thoughts down to a manageable roar. The familiar aching in his chest was returning – the one that had chewed mercilessly at his insides when he had made the choice to leave, effectively abandoning all the people he loved most.

"Does she know?" he asked, his voice unnecessarily low, as though she were on the other side of the door eavesdropping.

"That we've been in contact?" Toby scoffed. "No. She would be furious with me. All she's been talking about for weeks is getting a hold of you, and here I am, keeping yet another secret."

"It's different when you're doing it for the right reasons," Jason protested, "and I think trying to keep her safe qualifies."

"Yet we're no closer to figuring anything out than we were three months ago." Toby's eyes roved once more over the generous bottle deposits strewn across the room. "And apparently the pressures of gumshoeing have taken their toll on my partner-in-crime."

The sense of guilt was fleeting, quickly overwhelmed by the stinging urge to put forth a viable defense. "I told you it's none of your business."

Toby sighed dejectedly, pivoting the lone, rickety desk chair from its home beside the scratched mahogany surface from the 70s. He collapsed into it with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, leaning over his knees and clasping his hands together thoughtfully.

"Let's make something clear," he began candidly. "What you do on your own time is your prerogative. We have never really been friends, and if I'm being totally honest, I couldn't give two shits whether you run your miserable life straight into the ground."

The brutal honesty was somehow both simultaneously uplifting and depressing all at once. His pride relished the news that Toby had conceded to cease meddling in affairs that weren't his own – but at the same time, the lonely, downtrodden balloon of self-deprecation that had been growing in his ribcage over the past several weeks burgeoned in despair.

Nevertheless, he did not speak.

"But we had a deal," Toby continued. "We have a mutual goal, and someone that we both care about. Someone who means more to this miserable world than either one of us could possibly fathom. And whether she knows it or not, she's relying on us. We owe it to her. _You_ owe it to her. So if you're backing out, now's the time to let me know. I don't mind going solo. Been doing it my whole life. With good reason, too, because frankly, all you're doing right now is dragging me down and wasting my time."

Jason chanced a sheepish glance at Toby's piercing blue eyes, finding that despite his diatribe there was a silent pleading in their depths. Toby was not the type to cast anyone aside, especially not in their darkest hour. But Jason was also well aware that Toby was ruthless when it came to Spencer. He would not risk her safety or happiness in even the slightest capacity – and if that meant shedding all pretense of mercy for anyone standing in his way, he would deem that a necessary sacrifice.

But the inexplicable kindness in his eyes betrayed his words. He was not without hope – the expression on his face and the tremor in his voice implied that he was begging to be contradicted. He wanted this frontline battle speech to wake Jason up, not chase him off.

And because Jason was rather unaccustomed to being acquainted with a person long enough to warrant a tough love lecture, he could not help but appreciate Toby's honesty in some twisted way. As a man who had somehow grown up obscured by his younger sister's shadow, any miniscule hint of faith in his character resonated with much more bravado than most people.

He exhaled heavily, swinging his legs around the side of the bed and forcing himself to stand in spite of the acrobats colliding into the sensitive membranes of his skull. He swept his hands out in a placating gesture, letting them fall back to his sides after a moment in heavy conclusion.

Toby nodded approvingly, a ghost of a smile teasing his lips as he interpreted Jason's very poignant exodus from bed. He stood, offering his hand in renegotiation. Jason clapped his palm against Toby's in some masculine combination of a shake and a high five, holding fast to convey the extent of his renewed loyalty.

"All right," he declared confidently. "Let's do it."


End file.
